Dark
by Lady Priscilla Violet Regina
Summary: Sure, Duo is the God of Death...but he's also afraid of the dark. Afraid of his past. Afraid of those who wish to exact their revenge on him. Wouldn't you be?


Dark

By: Lady Priscilla Violet Regina

Warnings: VERY ANGSTY AND DARK. Death galore...and language. *grins*

Rated for: Language and horrible, horrible ideas. Good imagery, too. ^-^

* - * - *

Blood trickled down to the drain, swirling in beautifully disturbing pools until being sucked into the abysmal hell below. I felt my hand twitch as I watched this, eyes wide as terror coursed through my rapidly emptying veins.

'I'm dying,' I thought calmly. 'I am going dying and nothing will change that.' My vision faded in and out of focus, and suddenly my fear left me. 'I'm free.'

* - * - *

Dark. I'm terrified of it. Me, a 16 year old boy who has been the cause of thousands of deaths, hundreds of billions of dollars of damage to precious equipment, and the liberation of the fucking world...afraid of the dark. An abstract idea, something I know can't hurt me, and that is merely in essence, the absence of light.

Why? You ask. Why?

Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe it's the fact that the dark hides anything and everything from me, and could be housing my death at any moment.

If I could only turn on the light.

I'm not afraid of anything else. Nothing at all. Death itself doesn't even frighten me, as I know the place I'm heading will welcome my presence gratefully, handing me my crown, robe, and scepter while showing me my throne. No, I'm not scared of dying, of spiders, or of clowns...just the inky blackness that awaits me when it's time for bed.

I have every right to be, too. There are a number of people, of...things that would love to exact their revenge on my poor, murderous soul.

There are so many ways to torture a person, you know. All my enemies would have to do is put me in a room with lights off, alone, and it wouldn't be long before I was reduced to a sniveling, cowering shell of a boy who has faced and conquered death in its rawest form.

No one knows these ghastly images float through my thoughts all the time...coming home and being tied up in my basement, left to rot in my own terror as the rats gnaw off my boots so they can get to my flesh, their dinner. I'm morbid, you say? Morbidity as nothing to do with it. Nor does my obsession with death, in case that was your second guess.

Pure, unaltered, unrelenting fear causes people to open their fucking eyes and view the world in its truest form, unveiled and released from the close-minded shield we have all placed around it. We are all guilty of turning the other way during a crime, of muttering, 'That will never happen to me,' as we read the Surgeon General's Warnings, and of never stopping to think of statistics as being people, real people that have died doing careless acts. Guilty.

Do you remember when you were a naive five or six year old who believed your older brother when he said there were monsters under your bed? Some of us do, most of us don't...but we all remember the sleepless nights we had, clutching the covers as our eyes make piles of clothes into creepy crawlies and chairs into hideous creatures.

My eyes still do that, yet the terrors coming after me resemble all those I've, without a second thought, killed mercilessly. They resemble the small children holding teddy bears and dolls that flew from the buildings I demolished, wailing and screaming as they clutched their precious bundles and plunged to their untimely deaths. They are the ones coming for me, waiting in the dismal, sooty room behind that door, light source an abolisher of evil hidden.

In all my nightmares I have the faintest hope that maybe my attacker will turn on the light before killing me. However, I know none of them would do me that justice; none of them would be that forbearing. Why should they be? I was ruthless in my homicides, even if they were for the overall well being of the population of Earth as we know it.

Ah, but such is life. We all have fears...mine just happens to haunt my very existence every damn day of my life.

"Well, Duo, you have to face your fear to overcome it. That is the only way it will every go away," Dr. James told me while rubbing his temples with his index fingers.

I sighed. Another shrink who told me to face my fear. "I do face my fear, Doc...and it hasn't done a fucking thing fo me except terrify me even more. Thanks for listening, though." I stood to leave, reaching for my black leather coat, when a cold, wrinkled hand firmly grasped my forearm.

"Duo...I haven't done anything for you except tell you what everyone else has, and you're leaving already?"

I rolled my eyes as my lips pulled into a sarcastic smirk. "So how much do I owe ya?"

The old man sighed. "Nothing. This session is on the house. Please, stay..."

Donning my coat, I shook my head, unruly bangs brushing across the top of my forehead in even, quiet swishes. "Jaa, Doc."

I pumped the volume in my SUV on the way home, bobbing my head in time with Linkin Park's Crawling.

Moments later I was standing at my apartment door, key poised in front of the lock as my breath increased and my heart raced. Swallowing heavily, I forced myself to unlock and open the barrier between myself and my fear, as I did every day. I paused in the doorway, staring into the abyss spread out before me and spilling onto the floor at my feet, sparking every nerve in my body and alerting my senses.

Silence invaded my ears as I stood motionless until my conscious informed me that it was safe to enter the inky air. My hand strayed to the familiar light switch on the wall and I flicked it upward, producing starbursts in my vision as instant golden salvation flooded and illuminated the previously ominous room. Exhaling vigorously as relief washed over me, I turned to shut the door when the wind was knocked out of me and intense pressure cut off my air supply. My hands instinctively flew up to my throat as I struggled with my attacker, kicking him in the shins as I clawed at my neck in an attempt to pull away the wire causing my suffocation.

We twisted and turned a disturbingly graceful waltz in my living room until I finally slammed him up against the door, breaking his grasp on the steel around my throat. I pushed away from the invader swiftly and swiveled on my heel to catch a glimpse of him when there was a quiet click and I was drowned in a perpetual mural of ebony terror.

Fear swept my sense and I immediately froze, eyes wide as they drank in every aspect of the gloom surrounding me, enveloping me. The only sound that dared to break the continuity of black was my labored breathing, partly increased from my recent scuffle, and partly increased as a result of my terrified state. I dropped to my knees, my forehead pressed to the carpet and my arms encircling my trembling form as I cowered. I had no desire to shut my eyes and throw myself farther into the dark world encompassing me and luring my imagination out to make the situation worse than it already was.

I heard the creak of my door as it closed behind my retreating attacker, yet I remained shivering in a ball on the floor of my living room until eventually fell asleep.

Waking three hours later, I compelled myself to stand an walk calmly through the dark to the bathroom, intent on taking a shower. Turning on the light, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself. Gloomy circles surrounded my unusually dim, violet eyes, and my long, chestnut hair hung limply around my face and neck, braid unraveling. I stripped down to my boxers and gazed again into the mirror, scoffing at how lean I was. Flexing to make myself laugh at my inane sense of humor, I winked at the glass and grabbed a razor from the sink.

I turned on the water of the shower and shed my final layer of clothing before stepping into the steamy stall, flinching as the water scorched my milky skin, but enjoying it nonetheless. Placing my razor on the shower rack, I basked in the relaxing sensation of the liquid running over my body for a moment before grabbing the end of my meter long braid and yanking off the rubber band securing it. Rinsing my hair completely, I turned back to face the shower rack and grabbed the razor blade. Dissecting the shaving device, I extracted the two inch long steel lancet and held it cautiously between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, marveling at the fine edge on it.

Crossing myself once, I whispered a quick prayer to Shinigami and kissed my cross. I reached out of the shower and turned off the light in the bathroom, breath caught in my throat as I did this.

Have you ever heard of the jugular vein? It's a very large blood vessel in your neck that when severed causes almost instantaneous death...or hemophilia, during which you bleed and bleed until your body no longer functions and your system shuts down entirely...forever.

At least I know it's not going to be dark in Hell.

Not if I can help it.

-Owari

A/Ns: I was told this is my best piece of writing ever...

What do you think?

Gimme an email, or just a review...

And I'll be happy.

Thanks!


End file.
